


keep our fingers crossed all the way through the evening

by orphan_account



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Drabble, F/F, secret softie yasha is the only valid yasha
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-03-13 10:24:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13568604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Beau is tipsy by the time the Yasha comes up next to her at the bar.





	keep our fingers crossed all the way through the evening

**Author's Note:**

> shout out to [liza](https://astraas.tumblr.com/) for beta reading this; any mistakes that are left are mine
> 
> title source: [a.a.a. - squalloscope](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G1IkFtGZA5c)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

They’ve been on the road for over two weeks; they’re sore from taking turns sleeping in the cart and on the cold, damp ground, and Jester suggested that, upon coming to a small village, they should reward their progress with a night spent in a real bed under a solid roof. The agreement to rent some rooms was, to say the least, unanimous.

 

After arranging their lodgings and tucking in to a fresh, hot meal, the others, one by one, went upstairs to their rooms, until it was only Molly, Yasha, and Beau sitting at a table in the corner. At one point, Beau excused herself to the bar to get another drink, but, to Molly’s amusement, didn’t come back to the table.

 

When Molly starts for the stairs, Yasha downs her ale, thinking,  _ it’s time _ . She’s been waiting for an opportunity like this for days now.

 

Beau is tipsy by the time the Yasha comes up next to her at the bar. She clears her throat when Beau doesn’t react to her presence, and Beau seems to startle out of her quiet stupor. Beau attempts to straighten up, adjusting her shoulders, twisting on the stool so she’s half-facing Yasha, but the barbarian is sure she’s only moments away from toppling onto the floor.

 

“Hello, Yasha,” Beau starts—doesn’t slur, but is farily close to it, “funny seeing you here.” She hiccups, says in a way she probably thinks is smooth, “how are you and your…” she pauses, “arms?” She blinks in the low light of the room, her confident smile a bit lopsided as she sets her elbow on the counter.

 

Yasha feels an overwhelming sense of fondness for Beau wash over her; ordinarily, she would have clamped down on it, especially in the others’ company, but this time—this time, they’re alone, in a softer kind of dark, and Yasha is willing to make an exception. Or else, her heart has already made the decision for her.

 

“You want some company?” It’s supposed to come out as a question—an offer—but it’s flat to Yasha’s ears, more of a tentative statement than anything else.

 

Beau hums low in her throat. Patting the empty space next to her, she says, “step right up,” and Yasha settles onto the stool, noting how this inn caters more to Halflings than taller folk, since she, too, has to hunch her shoulders to comfortable settle her weight against the counter.

 

Beau isn’t looking at her. She’s looking into her mug, her thumb rubbing against the rim, slowly, back and forth, back and forth, then making clockwise circle after circle. It’s surprisingly mesmerizing to watch.

 

“You all right?” Yasha doesn’t know what else to ask. Doesn’t exactly know where to start, now that they’re finale alone. Well—alone as they can be in this dingy, cramped space. There are other patrons keeping to the dark corners, and the bartender is somewhere in the backroom. It’s a slow, quiet hour now that most of the rabble has gone to bed or departed into the night.

 

Beau nods. “Couldn’t be better,” she replies, shrugging a shoulder.

 

Yasha waits a beat, then, softer than she intended: “I’m glad I caught up to you when I did.”

 

Beau raises her mug in a mock-toast. “You really do know when to show up just in time,” she says, setting the ale back down. Quickly, she adds, “we, uh, really needed the assist. Us. The group.”

 

She is, of course, referring to the instance with the highwaymen that occurred earlier in the week. To her credit, the most Yasha was able to do was scare them off before they could get any serious hits on her allies..

 

“No,” Yasha says, “I mean, I’m glad I caught up to  _ you _ .”

 

Beau is uncharacteristically silent; after what feels like an age, she mumbles, “I’m glad you’re here. Really, really glad.” and she stiffens, her cheeks flushing, body going rigid in an instant. “I  _ mean _ ,” she rushes to add, “I’m glad you’re here. With us. With the group. Because you’re, uh, really good at…combat.” She winces, shifting awkwardly on her stool. Under her breath, she mutters, “ _ shit _ . Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.”

 

The monk doesn’t know it, but Yasha’s heart is singing.

 

“Okay.”

 

Beau blinks. Once, then twice. Not understanding. “… _ what _ ?” she asks finally, squinting.

 

Yasha’s lips, of their own accord, pull into a small, easy smile. “Okay.”

 

“What—what do you  _ mean _ …by ‘okay?’”

 

Yasha raises her hand. Beau’s eyes follow the movement, bit by bit. It reaches Beau, slow, fingers extended. And then, in the blink of an eye, her hand is on Beau’s throat, thumb under her eye, stroking her cheek.

 

It’s the gentlest moment she’s ever known.

 

Yasha waits, giving Beau the chance to lean away, to duck out, to run. But—

 

Beau leans into her touch, finally,  _ finally _ .

 

“I mean,” she half-whispers, so soft she can barely hear herself over the steady pounding of her heart, “okay.”

 

Beau’s eyes close. In this moment, there is nothing else in the world but them—nothing but this.

 

Beau opens her eyes. Flashing Yasha a grin, she says, “this means I get to kiss you, right,” and Yasha laughs. Beau leans in, eyes flicking to her lips, to the tattoo on her chin, to her throat, but Yasha keeps her hand on Beau’s face.

 

“Tomorrow,” she promises, softly, softly, “you can kiss me. But you stink of ale.”

 

Beau makes a face, trying to hide a smile by scrunching up her face. “What do you care?”

 

“Come on,” Yasha says, “we should go up. Get some sleep.”

 

They don’t, though. They stay there, at the bar like that, until the lights burn down to nothing.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
